These Things We Feel
by FiwiKruit
Summary: Dean confronts Sam about how he feels. Explicit Wincest!


**Disclaimer; I own nothing but the writing**

**Warning; Explicit Wincest, please don't read if it'll offend you.**

xxx

These Things We Feel

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam didn't look up from the screen of his laptop. There had been a series of deaths in the area, and the last one had left an eyewitness. An eyewitness who was convinced they'd seen some pretty supernatural stuff.

"Did you ever miss this?" This time he glanced over at Dean, wondering where his brother was going with the conversation. Wondering what his brother wanted him to say. Instead he shrugged and went back to the research, hoping Dean would leave the subject alone.

"I mean, did it ever get boring, being a normal guy? Did you ever wish you could come back?" Dean scratched his neck slowly, watching the ceiling. "Didn't you sit awake at night and wonder what Dad and I were doing?"

Another nonchalant shrug, another desperate prayer that Dean would change the subject.

"Was it better there, do you think? Were you happier?" No such luck. Dean's questioning continued, unhindered by his brother's lack of response.

"Why do you want to know, Dean?" Sam's eyes were fixed on Dean by then, but his brother had fallen silent. "Why is this suddenly so important to you?"

He didn't get a reply, so he returned to his research.

"I'm just wondering, Sammy. I've never had a life outside of hunting. I want to know what it's like." Sam blinked in confusion.

"I thought you loved this life." Dean was silent again, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes on the ceiling again.

"Did you prefer it? Being a normal kid, doing normal things? Was it better than what we had here?" There was bitterness in his brother's voice now. Sam didn't know who it was directed at, but it was there. It was almost tangible.

"It was different Dean. Okay? Just different." Dean opened his mouth as if to complain about his answer but Sam shook his head. This was making him angry – he was confused and he didn't know what Dean wanted, and it was stressing him out, making him angry. "If you wanted to know, then you should've gotten the hell out of there like I did. Maybe then we wouldn't be here right now."

"You don't want to be here?" Dean's voice suddenly sounded hurt and accusatory. Sam sighed, pushing the laptop to one side and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"I didn't say that-"

"But that's what you meant, right? You'd prefer it if I'd left Dad and started my own life because then you'd still be at Stanford and you'd still be happy." Dean rolled over onto his side, back facing Sam. "Fuck you then, Sam. If that's what you want, go ahead and leave. Go back to your new life with your new friends. See if I care."

Dean was being a child and he knew it, he just didn't care. And it was stupid, because he'd been the one gearing for a fight in the first place. He'd been the one pushing Sam with all those stupid questions. Dean knew that, and Sam knew that Dean knew that. He just wouldn't admit it.

"I didn't mean it that way Dean and you know it. Now stop being such an idiot." Dean didn't move. Sam sighed.

He hated it when Dean did shit like that. It was one of his worst habits; he'd work himself up and then wouldn't talk to Sam. Sometimes it got so bad, Sam would find his brother crying hours later, locked away in the Impala or in the bathroom or hiding on the roof. He'd been doing it since they were teenagers.

Sam blamed Dad. Dean blamed himself. They never did anything to sort it out, and it was times like these that Sam regretted that.

"Come on Dean, talk to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I honestly didn't." If Dean wanted to, he could go weeks without talking to Sam. Sam knew; he'd tested it once, when he was younger. It had been terrible.

So he pushed himself to his feet and wandered over to his brother's bed, reaching out to grab Dean's shoulder. He hesitated slightly, then steeled himself. If he didn't get Dean to listen to him – hear his apology – then things would just get worse. His hand caught Dean's shoulder and he tugged sharply.

Dean didn't offer much resistance. Instead he fell back onto his back, eyes staring unblinkingly over Sam's head. He wasn't crying. But the dead expression on his face was so much worse.

"Please, Dean," Sam was torn between over-whelming worry and annoyance. He hated it when Dean pulled stunts like these, but they scared the shit out of him. Every time. "Just talk to me. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, Sam. Just drop it." Sam snorted and shook his head.

"That's bullcrap and we both know it, Dean." That got his attention. That was something the old Sam would have said. Dean's eyes snapped over to Sam's, boring into him with an intensity Sam recognised from their past. "Now tell me what your fucking problem is."

A moment of hesitation, then it all came pouring out.

"You just don't fucking understand Sam. That's what's wrong. You walk about like your life is so fucking hard because you lost your girlfriend. And I'm sorry, but I lost a mother and a father and a brother, and that hurts a whole fucking lot worse. I know it hurts, Sam. I know you're hurting and you're in pain and your heart is broken, but you're not the only one. And you can't just say shit like how you wish you weren't here because dammit Sam, so do I. And I'd take it all back if I could. I hurt every fucking day because I brought you back into this life and _you don't even see it_. You have no idea what that does to me.

"But you said yes, Sam. You chose to come with me because of _Jessica_ so don't you fucking dare act like this is all my fault. I was leaving Sam. I was clearing out, and you changed your mind. This is down to you. Don't try and pin it on me."

Dean's hands clutched wildly onto Sam as he spoke, grabbing his arms, his shirt, anything he could reach. And Dean rolled out of bed, onto his feet, pushing Sam with him as he did.

"I'm trying, Sam. I'm trying to make this as easy as I can for you. I'm trying to get us to Dad as fast as I can because then you can kill this fucking demon and get the fuck out of here like you want to so badly. Does that make you happy, Sam? Does that make you feel better? We're bypassing towns where people are dying, because Dad isn't there and you don't care about anything but yourself anymore. All you care about is your fucking revenge and your peace of mind or whatever.

"And I hate it, Sam, but I'll play along because I'm so fucking in love with you that it hurts me. But you don't care about that, do you, Sammy? You don't give a shit about me now. I'm just another play toy, another means to the end. Another tool to help you get what you fucking want. Just like I was with Dad. And fuck, Sam. It breaks my heart, knowing that I mean that little to you. I could cope when it was Dad, because I had you. Guess I was wrong about that."

They were pushed against the wall. Dean's hands were clinging onto Sam's face, forcing him to meet his eyes, forcing him to see the tears rolling down his big brother's face. And Sam watched as something inside Dean snapped, and then his brother was pulling him down and pressing their mouths together.

It was hard to say no to something that felt so familiar.

Their mouths moved together in a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongue. Sam was suddenly hyper-aware of Dean's hands on his cheeks, his thumbs brushing closer and closer to the corners of his mouth, and of Dean's body pressed violently against his own. Everywhere their skin met burnt, and he could feel the heat rushing to his groin, his cock hardening against Dean's erection.

Dean's hands were working furiously at the buttons on Sam's shirt, almost ripping the last few in his frenzy. But then his hands were on Sam's chest, running across his skin and tracing the outline of every muscle. His nails raked slowly down his brother's stomach as his lips dropped down to Sam's collarbones, kissing and suckling and biting as he went. Sam let his head drop back against the wall, panting, as Dean's hands reached his jeans and yanked them down, over his hips.

Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's cock at the same time his teeth dug into Sam's neck, and Sam almost screamed. He hadn't felt so aroused in such a long time, and no one could touch him the same way Dean could.

Dean's arm brushed across his stomach and Sam realised that his brother was still fully clothed while he stood there completely naked. And the weakness he felt just then – the vulnerability – it sent a jolt of arousal through him that almost had him dropping to his knees.

Dean's hands were sure and strong, gripping Sam's cock with just the right pressure to send him squirming and gasping and whimpering up against the wall. His fingers squeezed one by one, moving tantalisingly slowly towards the base of his shaft before falling away completely. Sam was about to protest, but then Dean was running one fingertip up the length of his erection, teasing him with a barely-there press every so often.

And then Dean's fist was around him, and he was jerking him hard and fast, long strokes that stole his breath away. Dean's other hand toyed with his balls, cupping them and squeezing them and tugging on them, dragging moan after moan out of Sam's mouth.

"Moan for me, Sammy. Scream for me like the bitch you are," Dean muttered in Sam's ear, his voice dangerously – sexually – low. Sam couldn't reply, couldn't make his mouth work. He could only whimper his assent as Dean released his cock just as he reached orgasm and twisted him round, pushing his face into the wall behind them.

One long finger pressed into him agonisingly slowly, Dean's other hand gripping his hip and keeping him in place. Sam gasped out a curse as he felt the knuckle bump against his ass, the digit curling slightly and brushing against his prostate. Dean smirked and twitched his finger again, enjoying the way Sam's body convulsed beneath him. His other hand released Sam's hips and slid up his back, tangling in his hair and tugging his brother's head back so he could see his face. Their eyes met as he slid another finger in, scissoring them to loosen up Sam's entrance. He knew where to go this time, and his fingertips reached Sam's prostate almost instantly.

Sam's mind went blank as Dean buried his fingers inside of him, his breath coming in short bursts interrupted by moans and gasps. He hadn't felt so excited in years. His cock was hanging heavy beneath him, begging for release, but he didn't have the strength to lift his hands and provide that relief, and Dean sure as hell wasn't going to help.

And then Dean's fingers were gone and Sam felt empty, but the temporary respite allowed him to get his breath back. He was still gasping in large lungfuls of air when Dean pressed the tip of his erection onto Sam's entrance and slid in, one sharp thrust embedding him in there almost fully.

This time, Sam couldn't hold back the scream that tore up his throat. Dean steadied himself and drove in again, pushing further in, and it hurt like fuck until his brother found that one spot that had fireworks exploding in front of his eyes. Dean's grip on his hair tightened as Sam squirmed around his cock, his other hand pushing Sam's leg open wider. Once he'd found his purchase on the cheap floor, Dean began to pound in and out of his brother, eyes closed and head thrown back as ecstatic cries flooded from his lips. Sam moaned and writhed underneath him, not caring that he was acting like another of Dean's cheap sluts. Each thrust of his brother's hips sent him spiralling further towards orgasm, and Dean's hand was still nowhere near his cock.

Dean tugged on his brother's hips, pulling them out and pushing Sam's head down until he was bent at the hips, letting him go deeper and harder, scraping over Sam's prostate with every movement of his body. He could feel his release creeping up on him, and when he dropped his eyes to Sam's face, he could see his brother's proximity to orgasm reflected in his eyes. And then Sam caught his gaze and choked out his name, and then his ass was clenching around Dean's cock as he came, cum spilling out over the wall.

Dean followed almost instantly, shooting his load inside his brother with a harsh cry and pulling out slowly, panting. Sam dropped to his knees and pressed his palms against the wall, letting his forehead fall forward onto the brick as he struggled to catch his breath. Dean stood behind him, fully clothed but with his jeans and boxers around his thighs, watching his brother try and regain composure.

"Fuck, Dean. I'm sorry." It was a start. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. For then.


End file.
